


Interlude

by vega_voices



Series: Come Rain, Come Shine [39]
Category: Murphy Brown (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 14:58:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: Was this how it was supposed to feel? All laughter and hope soothing the nerves away? She’d always believed love was supposed to hurt, it was supposed to be frustrating. She’d always believed love meant tears and fights and throwing things. With Peter it was almost effortless and always had been.





	Interlude

**Title:** Interlude  
**Author:** vegawriters  
**Fandom:** Murphy Brown  
**Series:** Come Rain, Come Shine  
**Pairing:** Murphy Brown/Peter Hunt  
**Rating:** M for …. Well. You know.  
**Timeframe:** _McGovern: Unclothed_ (season 7)  
**A/N:** If Murphy had been a drama, these are the kinds of scenes we’d have seen. Also, if the writers toward the end of the 7th season had been more willing to let Murphy grow as a person, the humor would have focused more on moments like these and less on rehashing her eternal disaster of insecurity and fear of intimacy. Lastly, McGovern was drastically under used and it is a crime against her. She was a much better foil to Murphy than Miller, and losing her was yet another highlight about how seasons 8 and 9 were less about Murphy and more about the men around her.  
**Disclaimer:** So, Diane wasn’t around during this time. It’s still her show. She is God, but it would be really nice of Warner Bros. would release the purse strings so we could get this damn show on DVD already.

 **Summary:** _Was this how it was supposed to feel? All laughter and hope soothing the nerves away? She’d always believed love was supposed to hurt, it was supposed to be frustrating. She’d always believed love meant tears and fights and throwing things. With Peter it was almost effortless and always had been._

 

Peter found her stretched out on the couch in the library. She glanced up as he walked in, setting the book she was reading down on the floor. The look in her eyes was … promising. “Hey,” she said, her voice low. “How was the show? I would have watched but … research.”

“You know, you crack open some huge conspiracy about banking and terrorists, you duck the assassins on the way --” he almost said home. She caught it and he didn’t miss the twinkle in her eyes. “On the way over,” he finished. Her lips pursed together in a smile and her eyes raked up and down his body. Peter leaned in the doorway and let her look. “How was your day?”

She sighed and stretched, arching her back. He had zero, absolutely zero desire to get on that plane to Pakistan in the morning. Being home for these couple of weeks had been as close to perfect as life got. “It was all right. Almost got someone fired. Decided to rise above and be the bigger person …”

“Babe?” Peter frowned and walked into the library. “Are you feeling okay?”

She grinned. “I’m not sure.” Murphy moved her legs so he could sit down and then stretched them back out over his lap. Peter dragged his fingertips along the top of her feet, tracing the veins, down to the arch, and then back around to the heel before edging his hand up the inside of the pj pants she was wearing.

“So?” He teased, asking for details.

“Oh,” she laughed. “You saw McGovern’s Rolling Stone cover?”

“I skipped the tabloids today,” Peter responded, rolling his eyes.

“She’s naked. On Jim’s chair.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Jim has to sit in that chair!”

“That’s what we said!” Murphy laughed and pressed her toes into his thigh. “Not like we haven’t defiled the anchor desk plenty.”

“We’ve never done it on Jim’s chair!” Peter shook his head. “Naked! On the cover of Rolling Stone?!” He groaned. “So you …”

“I went to get her fired and then was reminded by Lansing that if I’d had the chance when I was boozing, I’d have done the same thing.”

“There is the saga of the 1980 Republican Convention …”

“Shut up!” Murphy groaned. “You were what? Twelve?”

“Twenty seven,” he taunted back. “And that’s legend at the Press Club.”

“Who do you think started the stories about it? Come on, Peter. Get ahead of your own press. You know how this works.”

He laughed and shook his head. “So, you took the high road, hmm?”

“Well, any change to remind an uppity twenty-something that I’ve got chops too. That I created the chops she thinks she has. And that sex is always better the older you get.”

“Tell me you actually told her that.”

Murphy smirked and tilted her head at him. Peter tried not to stare at her breasts through the thin, white t-shirt she was wearing. “I told her that my twenties were great. I could run up a couple of flights of stairs without getting winded and I could hold my liquor and I wasn’t worried about certain parts of me sagging.” Peter swatted her calf. “But, I also never had a decent orgasm.”

Peter busted out laughing. “Come on. You were married to Jake in your 20s. You can’t tell me that it was all terrible.”

“You’re assuming my ex-husband was good in the sack?” Murphy shrugged and bit her lip impishly. “Well, he was. But he also got better as we got older.”

“I’m trying not to compare myself here,” Peter grinned.

“Oh, my orgasms with you are more than decent,” Murphy grinned back. “Or weren’t you paying attention last night?”

“Oh,” he sighed. “I was. You have this way of making my name sound like a curse and I’m never sure if it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, or the scariest.”

She smirked. “I like scaring you just a little.”

This felt perfect. Perfect enough that he hadn’t argued the other night when his grandmother had told him she was sending over her sapphire ring. Perfect enough that Peter was pretty sure if he did get down on one knee, Murphy would say yes.

“Avery asleep?” He asked, glancing up to the ceiling. He had an early flight and had a feeling he was going to miss the kid. He hated leaving without getting his goodbye hug.

“Yes, but you can take first watch,” Murphy chuckled.

“Of all the things to inherit from you … he gets your sleeping patterns.”

“And my good looks, my charm, my wit, my brain … I think all he gets from Jake is his nose.”

Peter cracked up. And then Murphy shocked him.

“Sometimes, I look at him … and Peter … I swear I see you.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I just … it floors me sometimes.” She groaned and covered her face with her hand. “God. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, softly. He reached over and took her hand. “Murphy, I love that kid as much as I love you. It makes me happy to know that when we’re out together, people don’t think of me as a step…” he took a breath and said it. “They don’t see me as his step father. And that means something.”

“That’s a big word you just said.”

“I know.”

They stared at each other.

“What about no rules? No labels?” She sounded so scared. Peter didn’t care.

“We sped past that barrier at warp speed a long time ago, Murphy.”

“Yeah …” she murmured, avoiding his eyes for a long moment. Finally she looked back at him and he met her blue eyes head on. He couldn’t hide from this conversation. Not with Grandma Hunt’s sapphire ring on the way to DC. “Yeah, we did, didn’t we?” Her voice shook, but she didn’t look away.

Peter took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her fingers softly. “I have an early plane,” he said, his voice lowered.

“We should go to bed …” Murphy took his hand as she stood up and Peter let himself be led up the stairs to the bedroom.

Inside the rose colored room, Peter kicked the door shut with his foot while pulling Murphy back against his body. Since minute one, the connection between them had always been biological. Chemical. They communicated as much through touch as they did words - sometimes even more so. And tonight, as he slid his hands up inside her t-shirt, fingers lingering on her breasts, feeling her body mold against his, her hand going up around his neck for stability, he knew he wanted to be here, with her like this, for the rest of their lives.

He almost asked. Instead, he walked them forward, pushing the t-shirt off of her, feeling the soft weight of her breasts in his hands. She took her wrist in her hand and moved his fingers down, lower, and he pressed between her legs. “I’m just sensitive tonight,” she murmured. “Let’s keep the breast petting to a minimum.”

He chuckled. “Noted.” It wasn’t the first time her cycles had kept his fingers from her nipples. He pressed his mouth to her shoulder as he slid his hand down, past the waist of her silk pants, into the warm trap at the juncture of her thighs. She moaned and tilted her hips toward his touch and he slipped one finger between her folds, teasing lightly.

“Peter …”

His great turn on was how she whispered her name when he was touching her. His brash, loud, bossy lady, a woman who could never be defined as soft, whispered when he touched her. She trusted him to let the walls fall away, to give herself to him in ways he liked to think her other lovers hadn’t seen.

He knelt, tugging the silk down, helping her to step from them and watching from his place on his knees as she crawled forward onto the bed. Once, he’d listened to some no name road dog rag on her reputation as cold and unfeeling and all Peter had been able to do was lose himself in the image of how she welcomed her to him. She ran hot, always, in interviews and in bed and he counted himself lucky.

“You’re overdressed, Petey,” Murphy teased.

Rising to his feet, Peter slowly unbuttoned his shirt, meeting her eyes as he did so. As he stepped out of his pants and pushed her back into the bed, his hand again finding her core, his thumb pressing against the bundle of nerves that he firmly believed all men should know how to find before they were allowed in bed with a woman.

Murphy cried out, wrapping one leg around him, arching into his touch. “You like that?” He teased, knowing full well she did. One hand moved toward the end table and she reached in, and pulled out a fresh bottle of the lube they’d discovered they liked. Peter grinned and took it, rubbing some of the clear gel on his fingers, waiting for her nod before sliding one finger inside of her, and then a second.

Peter worked her, watching her face as she rode his hand, pushing her right to the edge over and over again before she grabbed his wrist and met his eyes.

“Get up here,” she moaned. Peter was more than happy to oblige. He tugged her under his body, pushing her hips up to meet his as she reached between them to guide him inside of her. Groaning, he paused, waiting to thrust, watching her breathe.

“I love you,” he moaned. “Which sounds really cheesy right now.”

“It does,” she agreed, pulling him closer, deeper. “But it’s okay.”

She matched him thrust for thrust, rolling her hips, bringing him completely into her body. Her moans escalated until she was arched up against him, one hand gripping the pillow, the other between them, moving in ever faster time to their rhythm, until she was gasping his name. She trembled as she came, a shudder moving through her that only egged him on until he tumbled over his own edge and barely caught himself before falling onto her.

“You okay?” He asked as he pulled out and watched her adjust. She nodded and reached up for a kiss before scooting slowly off the bed and ducking into the bathroom. By the time she emerged, he’d adjusted the comforters and cleaned up as best he could.

“You make my legs weak,” she said as she slid between the sheets, her hand running down his body in a way that promised she wasn’t quite done yet for the evening. “You … can sleep on the plane, right?”

He grinned and tugged her over so she was straddling him. “Definitely.”

***

Five o’clock came way too early. Murphy groaned and pushed her head under the pillow while Peter dragged himself from bed. In the back of her sleep-addled mind, she heard the shower kick on and settled in for five more minutes. God, she was exhausted.

She opened her eyes again to see Peter kneeling by the side of the bed, his fingers trailing down her arm. “Hey,” she murmured. “You look … ready to go.”

He grinned and ducked his head down for a kiss. “Cab is on the way.”

“Damnit.” She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. “How long are you gone again?”

“Two weeks if things go as planned?”

“So, three months then?” Exhaustion revealed her general annoyance at the early wake up call rather than his being gone, but she really wasn’t in the mood for another goodbye this morning. Murphy nudged him back and swung her legs out of bed. Peter stood and handed her the robe on the back of the closet door. She slid it over her sensitive body and ran her fingers through the mane of hair that would take an hour to get back under control.

“Hopefully not that.” His arms were around her and Murphy sighed into the kiss.

“Gives my poor body time to recover,” she teased when they broke apart. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Same,” he said, kissing her again. Murphy clenched her hand in his shirt before letting him go. “I’m going to go check on Avery,” he murmured.

“Kid slept the night. It must be the apocalypse.” Murphy sighed. “Which means he’ll be up soon anyway. God help me if he ends up being a morning person.”

Peter grinned at her. “He’ll be a reporter, you know. So he just won’t ever sleep.”

“Don’t curse the kid.”

Murphy followed Peter to Avery’s room. She leaned in the doorway, fighting back tears as Peter knelt by Avery’s bed and leaned in to kiss his mess of red hair. “Be good for your mom, kiddo,” he murmured. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

Avery shifted and swatted at Peter’s hand, which made both of them chuckle. Peter tucked the blanket a bit tighter and stood, slowly, before walking back over. Murphy sucked in a breath and took Peter’s hand as they walked down the stairs. The cab honked.

“I’ll call when I get to London,” Peter promised. “Might be the last call I can make for a while.”

“That’s your problem,” she chuckled as she helped him into his jacket. “You keep going where the news is and they just keep bombing out the phone lines.”

“Not sure what’s harder, trying to get a message to you or back to the network.”

Murphy grinned. “Me,” she taunted.

The cab honked again.

Peter grabbed his duffel and pulled her close for another kiss. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she sighed. “Go. Be a hero. Tell us everything and look good while doing it.”

He winked and stepped out of the house just in time for Avery to holler from the top of the stairs. “Peter! Peter!” He made his way down the stairs, clinging to the railing as did.

“Hey,” Murphy picked him up from the stairs and hefted him to her hip as Peter stepped back into the doorway.

“Bye, Kiddo,” he said, kissing Avery’s head. “Be good.”

Avery’s lip was trembling but he nodded. “Bye, Daddy.”

Murphy froze. She could see Peter stop too, the conversation from last night wrapping around them. He leaned in and hugged them both and Murphy clung to him. This … wow.

The cab honked. Peter chuckled. “I gotta go. Take care of each other.”

Avery waved until the cab drove away. Murphy sighed and set him down. She needed coffee and a muffin and a good, long cry. She closed the door and leaned against it, watching as Avery crawled onto the couch and pulled the blanket over him.

“Honey?” She asked her son, who already looked half-asleep. “Do you really think of Peter as your Daddy?”

Avery nodded and rubbed his eyes, already nearing sleep. Murphy let the conversation go for now - it wasn’t worth the nerves at 5:30 in the morning. She padded back through to the kitchen, started the coffee, and settled into a chair at the table, picking apart a muffin, and trying to make sense of her life.

She was almost 48 years old. Her almost four year old son saw her boyfriend of two years as a father and had zero concept of the abstract man who sent him postcards and never called. She had a man in her life who was solid, and reliable, and handled her moods better than she did. A lover who was on his way to Pakistan after spending time in Somalia and Iraq and Bosnia and Columbia and everywhere else bombs just kept dropping. But he always, somehow, came back. And he didn’t just come back to DC, but he came back here, to her, to them.

Was this how it was supposed to feel? All laughter and hope soothing the nerves away? She’d always believed love was supposed to hurt, it was supposed to be frustrating. She’d always believed love meant tears and fights and throwing things. With Peter it was almost effortless and always had been.

“Mommy?”

She took a deep breath and looked over at her baby. He padded over and she scooped him up, settling him on her lap. “Want a muffin?” He nodded. She gave him half of hers.

“Where did Peter go?”

Murphy smiled. “He went to this place called Pakistan. And over there, people are fighting. So he’s going to figure out why and tell the rest of the world the story.”

“Okay.” Avery jammed more of the muffin into his mouth.

Murphy nudged him off her lap to get herself a cup of coffee. “Let’s go get dressed. I’ll take you to school today instead of Reena.”

Avery grinned and raced out of the kitchen, trailing muffin crumbs behind him. Murphy just laughed and followed. She had all the time in the world to wax poetic about Peter and Avery and where the world might take her. Right now, her son needed to get dressed and she needed a shower. But, as she walked into the bedroom, her eyes lingered on Peter’s side of the bed.

When he’d said he’d be home soon … exactly what home was he referencing, and was she ready to broach the conversation of his being here full time rather than having his own place?

Well.

That was a conversation for when he was back in the country. Right now, she needed a shower. The rest could wait.


End file.
